


Feathers and Fury

by Mercykiller



Category: Fantasy - Fandom, LARP - Fandom
Genre: Fantasy, LARP, Original Character(s), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercykiller/pseuds/Mercykiller
Summary: Something is attacking and killing the scouting forces of Ironclaw, Dura and Dirge are sent to hunt it down.





	Feathers and Fury

The number goblin scouts returned to the camp with less than what they had left with, beaten and battered so badly as if they had been ambushed by a full strength warband. Limping from their wounds, supporting each other as they made their way back into the camp, two collapsing immediately once they had made it past the guards at the gates, moaning quietly from the pain when a few orcs came forward to heft them off the path and towards the healer’s tent.  
One almost made it to the front of the massive black war tent, stumbling and if it wasn’t for his spear that he was using as a walking staff he would have fallen over from sheer exhaustion. Dark blood seeped from deep cuts that covered the exposed skin of his arms and legs, thick leather armour that covered his torso and back had been sliced open as if it was nothing but soft fat. With a cough that splattered blood onto the baked dusty earth under him, he sunk to his knees just short of the tent entrance.  
She had been sitting close by in the process of fletching some new arrows with black crows feathers and a fine red cording, a number were already completed and packed into her quiver which sat beside her, when the goblin had staggered through the camp.  
Glancing up from her work, deftly splitting a feather in half with a small knife, she elbowed a youngster that was sitting beside her, who was playing a little game of dice with another orc.  
“Go find Mulag, we’re going to need a healer at the warlords’ tent. Be quick about it.” She grumbled and lay down the knife she was using, folding the sheet of leather over the tools lay on top of it and rolled it up. The youngster scrambled to their feet and shot off into the mass of tents, the orc they were playing against grumbled to themselves, collected up the game pieces before laying back to promptly fall asleep. With a roll of her eyes Dura pushed herself up and tucked the roll of tools into her quiver then hefted it and her bow over her shoulder to follow the goblin.

Dura hauled the goblin to his feet shortly after he’d sunk to his knees, protesting with yelps and squeals of pain as her fingers dug into wounds.  
“Oh hush ya lil snot, shamans comin’ and you’ll be in less pain soon. Best get to telling the Herald and the warlord what happened.” She growled back at him and hauled the goblin through the tent flaps and into the war tent.  
Grimgar and Dirge looked up from where they were seated at the war table, several daggers were embedded into the leather map that was stretched across the wooden surface, clearly whatever they had been planning had not gone the way they liked, and both their faces grew darker when they spied the mess of a goblin in Dura’s hands.  
“Now what.” It wasn’t a question from the tone in Dirge’s voice, definitely a demand, and one that pushed for a quick response.  
“Attacked boss.” The goblin coughed, hacking more blood onto the furs that lined the base of the tent.  
“By what? Where?” Grimgar was out of his chair now and wove his way towards the pair, Dura lowering the goblin to the floor and stepping back with her arms crossed over her chest.  
“Dunno, somethin’ big with feathers and claws as big as me arm, shredded me n’ two others before we took off, killed one of us. Screechin somethin’ horrid too.” His voice was quiet and raspy, but Dura saw the shiver when the goblin spoke. Whatever the creature was it had seriously spooked this one and probably the others as well.  
The tent flap pulled back and Mulag slipped into the tent, a small basket filled with clay jars, several rolls of cloth and some other odds and ends balanced on her hip, she took one look at the goblin that was crumpled on the floor and immediately flicked a questioning look at Dura who shrugged in return. She sat down next to the goblin and uncorked one of the jars, flooding the tent with the sharp smell of bitter herbs, and began smearing the green paste onto the wounds not obscured by armour.  
Dura crouched and started unbuckling the armour so Mulag could get to the wounds under them while the goblin continued his report on the beast that had ambushed them so quickly. Now able to see the gashes up close Dura confirmed they were definitely made by a bird like creature, there were deep clean initial puncture marks but the flesh was torn where it the talon had raked, ripping the skin apart. If the goblin lived he would bear the scars for life.  
“Get out.” Grimgar ordered and the goblin scrambled out the best he could with his destroyed armour just as Mulag tied off a bandage, clearly the warlord had heard enough. The shaman packed up her supplies and followed suit, Dura turning to leave with her but was halted by Grimgar as he placed a hand on her shoulder.  
“You’ll head a hunt with Dirge and a couple pikelets, see if you can’t kill this thing. Not wasting more scouts if they’re going to be massacred.”  
“Right. I’ll meet you at the main gate in the morning.” Dura nodded to Dirge, re adjusting the quiver on her back and ducked out of the tent to catch up with Mulag, walking through the camp together discussing what they had both just heard.  
“What do you think it is? Those wounds were fucked.” Muttered Mulag, as she reshuffled some of the jars in the basket so they made less noise as they walked along.  
“No clue, this island has to many secrets for my liking.” Dura wrinkled her nose at the thought, as if the other warbands, kobolds, and the clay warriors weren’t enough there was now some unknown feathered creature killing their troops.  
\---------------------------------------  
Dura left the camp early in the morning as the sun was just climbing over the horizon, kitted in her leather armour and armed only with her bow and dagger, leaving her heavier kit behind in her tent. The sword and shield would make a lot of noise and just be an inconvenience, it was far better suited to the battle field when she was faced with armed enemies. The pikelets she had rounded up trailed behind her, bickering quietly amongst themselves, they carried daggers and small recurve bows. Dirge stalked ahead of her, he too was dressed lightly in his leather tunic and as always he carried his sword staff.  
They slipped into the forest just outside the camps borders, trekking in towards the centre but came across animal tracks after only just getting out of sight of the camp, just a few hours old at the very least and fresh enough to follow easily. The tracks were odd, from a creature she hadn’t come across before in her travels. The set of prints were large and bird like, with claws that gored at the earth, but there were other marks around it that she couldn’t identify and it looked as if the creature was dragging something with it. Bending down to get a closer look at them she spotted blood amongst leaf litter, small drops every few steps that the creature took, someone or something had wounded it and it was slowly oozing its life away.  
If it was hunting this close to the camp it was either stupid or very confident in itself.  
Following the trail, they came across the true origin of the blood, a small deer carcass lay sprawled at an odd angle in the low brush, its chest had been torn open and the soft meats ripped out, most had been eaten but the filth organs like the intestines and stomach lay strewn across the ground. Dura crouched next to it and picked aside the torn bits of hide to get a better look at the feeding marks left on its exposed bones, while the pikelets pushed further ahead to look for more tracks, Dirge hovered over her shoulder.  
Whatever it was had ripped down on the deer’s belly and simply forced its way inside, using claws to prise open ribs in search of the meatier organs like the heart and lungs. There was a gash like wound on its neck that would have bled the deer out in minutes, and by the look of it the predator had carried it by that wound to feed in safety, there just wasn’t enough blood around or under the corpse to indicate that this was the kill site.  
The carcass was not completely cooled, flies were already swarming the eyes and nostrils, attracted by the scent of death, Dura could see a few scavenger birds lurking in the high treetops and circling in the skies above her, just patiently waiting for them to leave before they descended and had their fill.  
The pikelets came back and informed the orcs of tracks they found a way off that matched the ones they originally found, they were lighter now that it wasn’t weighed down by a kill.

The tracks wandered all over the place, sometimes they stopped and doubled back on themselves, but always moving deeper into the woodlands, but in the direction of some of the open grass fields Dura knew were scattered across the island. Occasionally a tree would reek of animal musk, marking behaviour, whatever was prowling out there was making it known that this was its territory.  
Her first glimpse of it was when the sun was at its peak, the earth was baking under her boots and her face was running with sweat. As she wiped her face down with her sleeve she saw movement in her peripheral, something was up in one of the trees, a huge feathered tail poked lazily down from a branch, fanned out for balance and just high enough up that the body of it was hidden in the thick foliage. The feathers were ruddy orange in colour, marked with white banding much like a hawk. She waved at the others to stop and look where she was pointing. They all watched from a distance for a while before drawing Dura drew arrow from her quiver. She’d barely drawn it when the tail vanished and the branches rustled as the creature disappeared to up to a higher perch. Dura let out a low growl in frustration as she discovered the wind had turned and blown their scent straight at the prey, a novice mistake for all of them. Dirge kicked the pikelets into action to follow the creature so they wouldn’t lose it, and they scurried off into the undergrowth.  
Shoving the arrow back into the quiver and slinging her bow over a shoulder she stood, walking away from the trees to seek out some small game runs to set some snares with Dirge, the pikelets could track the larger creature while they secured at least something simple that would end in a decent meal. Perhaps if she was lucky the creature would let it’s guard down and she could resume the hunt for it.  
They found some trails that went under some low laying shrubs, she could just make out a burrow entrance near the roots, to set the traps they moved a fair distance away, careful not to disturb to much of the area around them, Dura lay down some simple slip loop snares by using some young saplings that were growing over the top of the runs.  
When a rabbit passed through the loop and it caught the cording it would be enough to drop the loop from the twig allowing the slip knot to pull tightly around the animal, and trapping it in the snare. Unfortunately, once caught it would spook any other animals in the area so they set a few in separate runs to ensure success. 

The sun had reached it’s height by the time they was done with the snares, the pikelets had not sounded in for some time, either they were still tracking or they had been sloppy and been attacked themselves. Dura hoped it was the former.  
Dura paused a moment and listened carefully to the surroundings, the forest was always thrilling with insects or the calls of birds who perched in the top canopy of the trees. She listened for a specific shrill call that they had taught the pikelets, tilting her head she closed her eyes and remained still until she heard what they were after.  
Dirge began pacing impatiently, keen to be on the move again.  
The high-pitched whistle she was listening for eventually came from deeper in the forest, from the sound of it the pikelets weren’t that far from them either. Taking a moment longer to pin point the direction the call was coming from rather than the echoes that bounced around them.  
They found the pikelets an hour later in a small clearing, one of them was standing over the other, who was crumpled in a heap, its clothing was shredded and soaked through with blood, guts littered the ground around it. The other looked shaken and was staring at the tree tops anxiously with is dagger clutched in its hands.  
“You let it attack you?!” Dirge growl and hoisted the living pikelet up to eye height with him by the front of its tunic.  
“N…no boss, we tracked it like you asked. But it jumped us.”  
“And you let it get away.”  
“B…boss, it’s still in the trees.”  
Dirge dropped the pikelet and raised his sword staff, leaving the pikelet to scrabble in the dirt for its dropped dagger, Dura unslung her bow and scrambled up the nearest tree to get a better vantage point.  
Instead she came face to face with something she hadn’t expected, another face. It resembled a human, just. But with hawkish features, a pointed chin with a mouth that revealed sharpened teeth, high sharp cheekbones, a hooked nose in between eyes that gleamed yellow with cat eye pupils. Instead of hair, feathers bristled down its head and ran down it’s back to merge with its body which resembled one of a human woman speckled with down feathers, large wings took the place of arms, from about the waist the more bird features took over again, legs ended in scaled bird feet with wicked talons.  
Dura recoiled as it unhinged its jaw and screeched at her, beating at her with its wings hard blasts of air knocking her from the tree. She tumbled to the ground and landed on her back, the air knocked from her lungs and the bow from her hand.  
“H…har...py.” She managed to gasp before the creature launched itself at her forcing her to roll aside as the talons sunk into the earth where her face had just been, away from her bow. Dirge was quick to lunge in from behind the harpy, his blade swinging down across it’s back only for it to turn hop out was the way, turn and buffer him away with its wings as it launched itself into the air.  
The pikelet squealed and drove behind the bloody corpse of its companion as the harpy made a dive at it, screeching curses in some unintelligible language.  
The harpies head swivelled unnaturally to stare at Dura as she made for the bow, scrabbling across the ground instead of wasting time trying to get up.  
Dura had to roll again as it made another dive for her but when it lunged in close to her she pulled out one of her small daggers from its clip on her chest armour. It was barely longer than her forearm grip and all but her larger dagger was pinned on her back, it would have to do. Its head came down, jaw snapping with those sharp teeth at her face and neck as Dura’s hand shot up and she grabbed the only thing she could to keep it away, the breast of the harpy, sinking her own claws into the soft tissue she twisted and screamed her own challenge at the creature as she thrust her dagger into its side. Dirge lunged in again, swinging his blade up towards it’s chin as it reeled back from Dura’s attack wailing, the blade tip scoring a ragged cut from it’s lip and across an eye, at the same time the pikelet rallied itself now that it’s superiors were gaining an upper hand and threw itself bodily at the back of the harpy, digging it’s fingers into the feathery mane and began to rip out handfuls while cursing.  
The harpy reeled backwards further, twisting and turning, heaving its body around to try and dislodge the unwelcome burden on its back.  
“It’s wings! Get the wings.” Dirge commanded and ran towards it again the sword staff raise for a downwards swing at its shoulder while it was distracted by the pikelet. But the harpy twisted at the last moment and the blade came down on its back instead, cutting the pikelet in half, freeing the harpy from the extra weight. With a screech it launched itself into the air with a couple unsteady wing beats it made it to a tree and landed on a large branch that hung over the pair of orcs. Dura took this chance to make one last dive for her bow, with it firmly in her grip she righted herself to a kneeling position, reached behind her and pulled out an arrow out of her quiver. Broken…  
“Fuck.” She cursed and reached for another as the harpy was landing.  
Broken.  
Another.  
Splintered, no good.  
Another.  
“Dura!!” Dirge growled at her, it was out of range of his weapon and he was feeling the frustration.  
Damaged.  
“Fuck, come on.”  
The harpy bent and with its teeth pulled out the dagger that was embedded in its side, like removing a splinter, it hopped along the branch and dropped the dagger over Dirge who jumped out of the way to avoid the projectile. The wound started oozing  
“DURA!!”  
“Come on, Gajutar, give me one.” Dura closed her eyes and reached for another arrow, praying this one hadn’t also broken in the fight.  
Whole.  
“Yes.” She notched it and took aim at the harpy, just as it pulled a face and emptied its bowels over the pair, the orcs both cried out and dove out of the way of the stinking liquid. The harpy screeched, almost sounding like an jeering insult, before it took off heading deeper into the forest.  
Dura recovered herself and took aim at its back, just before it vanished behind a tree she loosed the arrow, with a quick prayer to the god of the hunt Dura watched as it shot through the air and found it’s mark in the shoulder.  
There was the sound of branches snapping as the harpy fell, a faint wail and then the sound of frantically beating wings as it attempted to take off again.  
“Well get after it.” She snapped at Dirge who promptly disappeared into the forest scrub after it, hopefully he would be able to keep an eye on it and Dura could simply just follow his tracks.  
Standing she assessed herself, some her clothes were torn and she had a few scrapes, her leather chest piece had some gouges in it but when she inserted her fingers into the holes only small traces of blood came away, could have been worse considering the damage it had done to the pikelet. Unstrapping her quiver, she dumped the contents on the ground, toeing at the remains of the arrows. With a sigh she bent and collected the undamaged ones, only 6 viable arrows out of a whole new quiver, it was next to nothing in the grand scheme of things, her shots would have to be chosen with care now.  
With the much lighter quiver strapped to her back she jogged off after Dirge, pausing only to pick up her bloodied dagger from the ground, wiping the harpies blood and bodily waste from it on the edge of her tunic before sliding back into its sheath.  
Dirge was always easy to follow given that he wasn’t trying to hide his tracks, and the scent of blood from the harpy was rich in the air making the trail easy to pick up. She quickly found the spot where the harpy had taken its unwanted tumble from the air, fallen branches littered the forest floor, looking up she could see it fell a fair distance before righting itself and hopped from one tree to the next to get further away from the orcs.  
A few metres on she found the broken shaft of her arrow, either the harpy had intentionally snapped it off, or it had caught on a branch as it made its escape. Either way it was leaving the head embedded in its flesh as a nagging pain that would slow it down.  
Following her companions tracks and checking the trees for the claw marks left by the harpy, she eventually caught up with Dirge. He was crouched low behind one of the larger trees, his gaze fixed upon another. He didn’t turn when she crept up and stood beside him, he just pointed towards one of the higher branches in the tree he was staring at, it took Dura a moment to spot it because its feathers blended so well with the yellowing leaves, but the harpy was perched, one wing hanging limply at its side, she could see the bald patches where the pikelet had attacked it in the initial brawl, blood matted the feathers down it’s back. It was cleaning its wounds as best it could. Every so often it would try to reach the broken arrow in its shoulder and each time it couldn’t reach it seemed to stomp a little and ruffle its feathers in frustration.  
“It thinks it lost me a way back. Let’s hope the wind doesn’t change.” Dirge whispered.  
“Go around and I’ll flush it towards you.” She pointed to a denser cluster of low laying scrub that he could set his ambush in, she drew an arrow, notched it and nodded for Dirge to make his move.  
Crouching with bow and arrow gripped in one hand she patted the ground around her until she felt a rock under her fingers, digging it out she stuck her head from around the tree and looked for Dirge, he was hard to spot, his lighter green skin blending it very well with the grass around him, but once he was in position Dura made her move.  
With the stone she threw it into the forest away from her, in the direction the harpy was facing, it bounced off a tree trunk noisily, drawing the harpies attention away from the positions of the orcs. Instantly its head was up and looking around, Dura’s bow came up in the same moment, the arrow tip aimed at its centre of mass, but it would need to emerge from it’s cover for her to get a clear shot.  
“Come on, move.” She whispered.  
It didn’t budge.  
Inhaling deeply Dura loosed the arrow, it shot through the air and embedded itself in the meaty thigh of the harpy. It wasn’t the kill shot she would have liked but with its torso hidden and away from her it was hard to finish it off without a clear shot.  
5 left.  
That got it moving however, awkwardly but not out of the fight yet. Dura notched another arrow and loosed it. The creature howled, leaping from its perch towards her, clearly infuriated now by the attacks. The projectile whizzed past its head clipping its cheek opposite to the cut Dirge had given it.  
A miss.  
4 left.  
She was quickly running out of range, if she was lucky she might get in one more shot before it closed the distance and she would be forced to deal with those murdering talons. The harpy almost fell the last few branches as its injured leg buckled underneath it. She aimed again.  
Breath in.  
Loose.  
Exhale, and reload.  
3 left.  
Her shot landed in the stomach, the harpy almost crumpled. But with a terrible wail propelled itself at her, its uninjured wing beating frantically to help it remain upright. It was closing the distance surprisingly quickly. Much to quickly for her to get another aimed shot off.  
The pointed mess of teeth came bearing down on her, those yellow eyes burning with hatred, she abandoned the bow and arrow and drew her dagger as Dirge erupted from his hiding place. With a swing he severed its injured wing at the shoulder, spinning the large weapon he quickly came down with a slashing cut across it’s back. It reeled spinning towards the new attacker, Dura closed the remaining distance and slid under it, lashing out with dagger and severing tendons in its leg, rolling out of the way as its full weight came crashing down to the ground. Dirge came down with the final blow, cleanly slicing it’s head from its neck cutting its last shriek short. Its head rolling to a stop just short of his feet.  
\------------------  
The pair of them carried the body back to camp, strapped to a fresh cut sapling and bound in place with long pieces of tender roots and vines. Its head hung from Dirge’s belt with a piece of rope wrapped through its hanging mouth, the dead eyes staring off into the distance as they walked through the gates and past the guards.  
Dura had claimed the talons, ripping each one from the fresh using her hands, only needing the cutting edge of a knife to sever the stringy tendon. They would make fine trophies.

Grimgar was standing in front of the war tent when they arrived, the torches had been lit as the sun sunk below the horizon line, throwing the camp into deep flickering shadows.  
“So it was a harpy wreaking havoc on our scouts.” Came the matter of fact statement from the Heralds lips.  
“Probably a nest nearby, should be fine enough to find it now.”  
Dirge dropped his end of the sapling on the ground, unhooked the head from his belt and threw it at Grimgar, who caught it deftly and turned it over in his hands inspecting it closely, before stalking past and disappearing into the war tent behind them, Grimgar followed him shortly after, stopping only to hang the trophy from a nail driven into the large arching pieces of wood that dominated the entrance to the tent. Dura handed off her end to one of the orcs that had followed them up into the centre of the camp.  
“See that the Farseer and Thunderbringer get the wing, and tail feathers. Divide the rest and feed the camp.” Ordered Dura and left the orcs to carry them out, heading for her own tent to promptly strip herself of kit and slump into her pile of furs.


End file.
